


Sweet Rhythm

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Gen, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-05-23
Updated: 2000-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-10 10:21:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11125146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: RayK dances to relax after a particularily stressful day at work.





	Sweet Rhythm

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Sweet Rhythm

 

Disclaimer: Not mine, Alliance's. Not making money, please don't sue  
me.  
  
No spoilers, no relation to episodes, and no plot.  
  
Not beta'd at all, so any mistakes are _all_ mine, dammit!  <g>  
  
Feedback is worshiped at  
  
Rating: PG at worst, not even a hint of slash.  
  
Sweet Rhythm  
by Tara Blue  
  
He could _feel_ them, the heavy bass chords throbbing in the background  
of the song. They vibrated up through floorboards exposed by a rolled  
back rug, into the bare soles of his pounding feet, giving rhythm to  
steps. They wrapped around his narrow, jean clad hips, cradling them,  
guiding them into a series of snap, grind, snap. They seeped into the  
bones of his arms, pulling them into wild undulations that flew away,  
then back into his body, then even closer still until he was momentarily  
wrapped in an embrace from his own limbs before flying away again. Finally,  
the beat settled into his chest, drawing his heart into beat, now in  
unison, now slipping into a counter beat, and now slipping back again.  
  
He could feel the sweet, seductive call of each pulse, humming to him  
through his body, through his bones. In a siren's song, it urged him  
to forget . . . everything.  
  
Gladly, he did just that, allowing the sweet, driving rhythm to drive  
each heavy thought and worry that had weighed down his mind and bowed  
his shoulders. Throwing his arms wide, he let go of the last of self  
and granted the music entrance to the body left behind.  
  
Harder his feet pounded, more violently his hips snapped. He could feel  
slow drops of salty sweat making their way down the planes of his face  
and neck until being absorbed by the collar of his shirt. The weight  
of the damp fabric was suddenly too restrictive, and he pulled it up  
and off, casting it aside without thought as to where it landed.  
  
Now bare chested as well as barefoot, he flung himself totally into the  
primal movements the music wrung from his long limbs. He savoured the  
feel of the slightly cool air pressing against his flushed skin, the  
ribbons of sweat now trickling unhindered down his back and lean flanks.  
  
This . . . this was his nirvana. No thought, no worry, just basic existence  
and music entwined as close as lovers.  
  
He tossed his head, a shaft of warm sunlight catching the short, dark  
blond spikes of hair and gilding it into a halo around his bliss filled  
face. The subtle, caressing heat of the sun drew him almost as much  
as the music had, and he slid into the puddle it was making just inside  
the window without ever pausing his writhing to the music.  
  
Sudden silence brought him back to himself momentarily, leaving him frozen  
and dead still, like a rabbit caught in the head lights of a fast advancing  
truck. The dreary thoughts of the day tried to make their insidious  
way back into his brain, but the onset of the next song staved them off.  
  
Again, he allowed the music to wrap around him, and in him, and through  
him, until there was nothing but the music and the beat and his body.  
The rhythm was slightly different. The driving throbbing beat was still  
present, but now it had a slutty, sultry feel to it that led him in an  
entirely new set of steps. The snapping hips were eased into slow undulations,  
the wildly flailing arms were smoothed into his body, sliding over and  
around his torso in languid caresses. No more did his feet pound, but  
instead braced solidly to support the writhing of the rest of his body.  
  
He allowed the sunlight to stroke against his skin, and where the kiss  
of the light went, he followed with his own hands. Alone in his apartment,  
feeling safe in his isolation, he allowed himself liberties with his  
own body that would never be allowed in public.  
  
The long fingers went first into his hair, tugging the moussed spikes  
until they softened and became tousled enough to stand up on their own.  
Dragging the fingers down over his sweat-damp face, he ground the heels  
of his palms into his eye sockets until the darkness behind his eyelids  
was filled with lights and sparks, then he abruptly slid the hands away  
and opened his eyes. When the darkness faded from his vision, the contrast  
of the honey coloured light caused the whole world seem golden and warm.  
  
Down over his neck, exposed in a long arch by the tossed back head, over  
his shoulders, down to his upper arms in a lonely kind of hug. Across  
the chest, long fingers leaving long lines in the sheen of moisture clinging  
to the lank frame, dipping to the waistband, sliding down over the angles  
of his hipbones, then doubling back to his chest.  
  
The dance was far more sensuous than anything he'd allow himself outside  
of the confines of his apartment. His defences were stripped away, leaving  
his pale pink insides vulnerably exposed to the world, should the world  
care to take a look. It was too dangerous, too risky to allow anyone  
a glimpse of this most inner part of himself.  
  
But the world couldn't see past the closed doors of his apartment, bolted,  
locked, and barred against intrusions. This was his haven, the only  
safe place to retreat to when the lies and mind games became too much  
for him. And today, they had. Not for the first time, the lie he had  
chosen to live, the lie he was now chafing under had become more than  
he could handle. He had begun to sink into despair. But, no - he wouldn't  
think about that, not until the music stopped. He wouldn't think about  
anything until the music stopped.  
  
On and on he danced, to song after song, until the CD had played itself  
out, and so had half of the one after it. It wasn't until the end of  
the second CD that he finally gave in to the tired quiver invading his  
limbs and collapsed onto the feminine love seat that looked so out of  
place in the center of his rather masculine apartment.  
  
He sighed and leaned back, dropping the head that was suddenly too heavy  
for the slender neck to hold it up. He pinched the bridge of his nose  
between his thumb and forefinger as the heavy thoughts that had propelled  
him to seek that state of non-thinking he reached when dancing crashed  
back, as harsh and unpleasant as ever.  
  
Ray Kowalski slumped back against the cushioned seat back, grabbing the  
remote to the stereo and savagely thumbing the power button.  
  
It was time to return to the real world.  
  
  
End.


End file.
